


What to do About Robin

by NotesFromSarah



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Family, Family Dynamics, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Introspection, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotesFromSarah/pseuds/NotesFromSarah
Summary: While Damian is Bruce’s first born, he’s actually more like Bruce’s fourth son. As Bruce adopts the boy as his new Robin, he must come to terms with his relationships with the previous Robins. An introspective on Batman and his Robins. Slight AU.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	1. ALL IN THE FAMILY

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheLady0fShalott](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLady0fShalott/gifts).



Bruce sat in the study at Wayne Manor carefully watching the small boy who was carefully perched in a large chair reading an even larger book. Damian. His...son. The boy had come to live with him just two short weeks ago and both of them were adjusting to the abrupt change in their lives.

“Let’s go for a walk.” Bruce gestured to the child. It was going to be a long time before things felt normal between them, if they ever would.

Damian lowered his book and shrugged, acting like he didn’t care. “Fine.”

The two of them strolled out on the grounds, an uneasy silence between them. Bruce shoved his hands -in his pockets trying to think of a way to connect to this nine-year-old stranger. “So, tell me about the book you were reading, what’s it about?”

Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s nothing.”

_Wonderful_ , thought Bruce.  _Now what_ . “Since you’ve had a couple weeks to settle in, how do you feel here?”

Dami a n grimaced. “You only have one servant, and he’s not very nice.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. Poor Alfred. He foresaw many conflicts between his oldest friend and his newest family member. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“This place is cold and dark, I like my home better.”

The two of them wended their way through the large gardens, the  winter snow still clung to everything . Dami a n was right, it was cold in Gotham right now. “It’ll warm up soon, I promise.”

“So,” Damian started.

“Yes?” Bruce said.

“How long do I have to stay here?” 

“It’s going to be a while. You’re here to grow up and get a good education.” Bruce had told him this before of course, but the boy seemed to be hoping that he would say he could go back to his mother in six weeks or something.

The boy sighed, but didn’t seem upset. “So when will we start training?”

Bruce stopped in his tracks. “Training?”

Damian stopped too, looking at him as if he were being purposely obtuse. “Mama trained me to fight like Grandfather did, and she said the best fighter she ever met was Batman. So, when will you start teaching me to fight.”

It was a good question, really. He’d never hesitated  to train the other boys, and honestly giving them that focus and sense of purpose had really helped them adapt to life at the Wayne Manor. Instead of brooding on their tragedies, they had something to look forward to, a reason to get up every day. Bruce looked the kid up and down. Surely Dick had never been so small.

“I think it would be better to focus on your education, and developing your extra curricular interests.” God, he sounded boring.

“I’m already smart, why do I need any more education.” 

Bruce hi d his smile at the absurdity of the idea that a nine-year-old, however accomplished, wouldn’t need further education. “I think you’ll find that a few more years of schooling will do you good. Not everything you need to know can be found in books.”

“Are you going to make me go to a real school?” Damian did not sound excited.

“Yes, once you’re more settled you will be enrolled in Gotham Academy, I went there myself and I think you’ll like it.” In fact, all of the other boys had gone there, and while it had been a bit of a rough transition for both Dick and Jason, the school was a good one and more than equipped to help the boys acclimate and excel. Tim of course had already been going there, and when he came into Bruce’s care he had just continued his studies there. All of the boys had gotten a well-rounded education, and Bruce reflected fondly on his own experiences.

“Gotham Academy?” Damian didn’t sound impressed. “Is it as good at educating people as Gotham is at fighting crime?”

So it seemed that sarcasm was one of the languages that Damian was fluent in, Bruce couldn’t wait till Damian was a teenager. “It’s quite a bit better actually. You’ll do well at Gotham Academy.”

“And the training?”

Bruce drew in a breath. “I don’t want you to worry about that right now. Your main focus should be getting used to school in America and working on your education.”

Damian, arms still crossed over his chest, looked even more unhappy. Bruce honestly couldn’t remember ever seeing the boy smile. “ I wish I was back with Mama.”

* * *

“Batman, I want to quit school,” Damian said, coming into the study.

Bruce  almost had a heart attack hearing  the kid use that name while he was dressed normally.  He had to say, though, the boy had his undivided attention. The newspaper he had been reading completely forgotten on the floor. “Damian, we’ve talked about this, it’s non-negotiable.” Bruce had said some variation of this line for the last month as the kid had started spring semester at Gotham Academy. Reaching down and picking up the paper Bruce motioned for Damian to sit down.

Damian threw himself into the big chair. He had sort of claimed it as “his” chair it seemed, and he almost always sat in it when they were in the study. He crossed his arms and stared sulkily at the floor.

“Why did you call me ‘Batman’ a second ago?” Bruce now realized it was the first time Damian had addressed him as, well, anything. Usually the kid just started talking. 

“It’s who you are, isn’t it? Mama always called you Batman.” Damian looked up from the floor to meet Bruce’s gaze. “Whenever I asked her who my father was she always said ‘Batman. Your father is Batman and he lives far away.’”

Bruce folded the newspaper, setting it aside. “Well, I prefer if you don’t call me Batman, I’ve told you before that it’s a secret and it’s best if you don’t call me tha t, ever.”

“What am I supposed to call you then?” Damian sat up a bit, leaning forward. Apparently he’d been searching for an answer to this question.

“The other boys always call me Bruce.” 

“Other boys? You mean those guys you kept around as sidekicks?”

“Well, yes. Dick, Jason and Tim all preferred to call me Bruce and I think it worked well.”

“Bruce,” Damian tried out the name. It felt a little weird to the both of them. “Can I call you father instead?”

Bruce grimaced. Father sounded so impersonal, so distant. None of the other boys had wanted to call him father.  In fact, he probably wouldn’t have allowed them to do so. He wasn’t their father, after all. But here the case was different. He  _was_ Damian’s father. Didn’t the kid have a sort of right to call him father? “I suppose,” said Bruce, “if that’s what you really want.”

* * *

_Knock, knock, knock!_

Bruce groaned at the rapping on his bedroom door. He could tell by the sound it was Alfred. Before he could even say anything the butler had entered and went about the room, opening the curtains to let in the morning light.

“Long night, Master Wayne?”

It had been, and not for any fun reasons. “It was indeed.” Bruce glanced at the clock, it seemed he had gotten three hours of sleep. He’d had worse nights. Of course, working alone always took twice as long, he missed having someone to work side by side with.

“Master Damian is up and I’m sure he’s waiting for you at breakfast, you’d best hurry.”

Bruce hustled through his morning routine and made it the breakfast table in remarkable time. Damian was already seated at the table drinking tea. Decaf of course, Bruce had a very strict no caffeine for children rule.

“Good morning Damian,” Bruce said, sitting down.

“Good morning...father.” Damian said, the word somewhat awkwardly attaching itself to the greeting. Putting down his cup he said, “I noticed that you didn’t come back last night.”

“Oh did you? Why weren’t you asleep?” Bruce spread his napkin over his knee and poured himself a cup of fully caffeinated coffee.

“I wanted to see where you went. I know what you do at night in the city.” Damian took a couple more gulps of tea before reaching for a knife and spreading butter on his toast. Bruce sipped his own drink, waiting for Damian to continue. “I want to go with you. I’m tougher and smarter than any of those other sidekicks you had, I deserve to go with you. If you don’t let me I can always go on my own.”

So they were at the stage where Damian used threats and manipulation to get his way. Bruce didn’t like caving to the demands of a child, but he also remembered that Dick had been the same age as Damian was now when he first accompanied him on nighttime exploits. That had been a long time ago, and looking back on it now, Bruce was kind of shocked he had ever been so reckless as to let a _nine-year-old_ join him, even if most of the time it was just picking up clues in back alleys. “I’ll think about it,” said Bruce noncommittally. “We’ll talk more after school, now eat up.”

Bruce thought about it all day long. At his Wayne Enterprises meetings and boardroom conferences he barely paid attention to the presenters, instead turning over the idea of taking Damian on as Robin. He’d been without Robin for almost a year now, Tim being the most recent fledgling to leave the nest. He honestly didn’t have a good reason to say no to Damian. The kid was smart, strong and skilled. The boy’s mother had seen to that. Leave it to the League of Assassins to try and make an assassin out of a child. Though, Talia had assured him that Damian had never seen any real combat, faint reassurance that it was. The more he thought about it the more it seemed like it was only fair to give Damian a shot as Robin. Still, there was something that didn’t quite sit right with him about the whole thing.

When Damian returned from school that day, glowering as he always was when he got home from school, Bruce met him at the door. “How was school?” Bruce asked, knowing full well that Damian detested the place. It seemed it would take a while before Gotham Academy was the boy’s home as it had become to the others.

“Awful,” Damian replied peevishly. “I would like to burn the entire building to the ground. It’s full of dozens of nasty kids without a brain cell between them. None of them have ever done anything interesting, and one girl pretends she’s a horse during lunchtime. How stupid is that!”

Bruce looked at Damian a little sadly, this child had been programmed and made to be a tiny adult his whole life, so much so that he despised normal things like playing pretend. Dick had had lots of play adventures when he was this age, possibly growing up in the circus had made his imagination even bigger than that of a more conventionally raised child. “Come on, I have something to show you.”

Damian shrugged off his backpack letting it fall to the floor inside the doorway. “Where are we going?”

Bruce smiled and winked, holding a finger to his lips. “It’s a secret.”

Damian’s eyes lit up and as Bruce and him started down the hallway he gave a little skip. _At least there’s still a few child-like things about him_ , thought Bruce. They made their way through the manor to a mostly ignored parlor deep inside the mansion. It was far removed from the rest of the house, and possibly the oldest part of house, but Bruce wasn’t sure about that last part. Upon entering the unassuming room he checked to see that all the curtains were drawn. Alfred usually kept them that way but he always double checked. Damian was looking at him expectantly. “In this room is the secret entrance to the cave I work out of as Batman. This must be a secret between us, but I want you to know how to get down there.”

Damian looked all around the room, apparently trying to deduce where the cave entrance was concealed. “So, where’s the door?”

“Try and see if you can figure out where it is on your own. You know it exists here somewhere, so put those brains to work.” Bruce crossed his arms over his chest and stood back as Damian took up the challenge. If Damian was going to be Robin, he had to prove he was more than aggressive. A keen mind and sharp reasoning skills were as important, if not more so, than any martial talent.

Damian walked the room trying to figure out where the door might be hidden. Bruce watched as he deliberately paced off the room, starting from the outside edges and working inward. The boy examined every floorboard that squeaked, knocked on all the walls, and pushed furniture from one place to another to inspect their sitting place. He played with the light switches, carefully went over the window casements, and combed every inch of the fireplace. The kid was pretty methodical about it all, and Bruce had to say he was a bit impressed with how he went about it. Damian had mostly struck him as something of a hothead, he had very little patience for anything and was quick to be critical when things didn’t happen fast enough. But, apparently, the boy had just needed the right kind of challenge.

For close to twenty minutes Damian scoured the room, every nook and cranny closely scrutinized. Bruce could almost see the mental checklist the boy was going through as he eliminated various possible cave entrances. The boy had been exceedingly diligent in his investigation and seemed to have decided upon the fireplace. Now he was carefully poking and pressing every brick and hearthstone, looking for a way to make it open. After failing to find a hidden lever or sliding brick Damian turned to Bruce. “I know it’s here, you must have it sealed with some sort of electronic device, a secret frequency so that only you can get into it. Is it a sonic bat sound? That seems like something Batman would do.”

“It does doesn’t it,” mused Bruce with a hint of a twinkle in his eye. “No, there is no secret bat frequency to open up the fireplace, but it’s a good guess. I wasn’t trying to trick you, the door really is in here, and the only thing you need to open it is your own two hands.”

Damian narrowed his eyes at Bruce, as if looking for some kind of trick. “I looked everywhere, there’s no way to open the fireplace without some sort of key or signal, it’s impossible.”

“To open the fireplace? Yes it is. Because the fireplace isn’t the entrance.”

Damian scowled. “It has to be, nowhere else is big enough.”

Bruce gestured for the kid to follow him and strode across the room the enormous grandfather clock. Cleverly designed to function as an actual clock, this magnificent timepiece was also a pathway to the caves, and to Bruce Wayne’s other life. Opening the glass door Bruce took hold of the pendulum and pulled down. Damian had also opened the clock door earlier, only he had stopped inspecting it after a cursory glance. There was a mechanical click from the depths of the clock and the back of it came ever so slightly ajar. Pushing on the back panel Bruce swung the door wide, revealing a set of stairs that descended into gloomy shadows. “Sometimes the most unassuming things hide the greatest secrets.” Damian’s face was a mixture of excitement and irritation that he hadn’t been able to solve the puzzle correctly. Glancing from the hidden door to Bruce then back again he moved to the clock door and peered down the dark staircase. “Go on,” said Bruce, “it’s time for you to see the cave.”


	2. FOURTH TIME’S THE CHARM

Inside the cave it was clear to see that Damian was a bit dazzled by the immensity of it. Not only was the cave of great size, but there was advanced technology filling every corner. Immediately the boy raced to the nearest console to look at all the buttons. Then over to the  B atmobile to ogle the chrome  hubcaps and leather  seats . From one thing to the next the boy raced  around the room with delight.  _At least this is one area where he’s pretty much the same as all the other boys_ , thought Bruce. Each one had reacted in more or less the same way, and Bruce couldn’t blame them. He would have been just as awed by a setup like this at the tender age of nine. While the League of Assassins used plenty of tech, they were still eons behind the sort of thing Bruce had available here.

Damian opened a drawer and ran his fingers lovingly over the bat-shaped throwing stars inside.  “ Did you make all this yourself?” 

“Not exactly, I have a lot of people who help me here.”

“And me?” Damian said, turning to face Bruce, “have you decided that you want me to fight with you?”

The idea of Damian fighting alongside him gave Bruce an uncomfortable mental twinge, but he elected to ignore it. “Something like that. If you want, I’m willing to take you on as my new Robin.”

Damian actually smiled for the first time since Bruce had known him. “I can’t wait.”

“There are going to be some rules though, and you’re going to have do some training to my specifications.” This seemed to delight Damian all the more. “And,” Bruce continued, “all this has to happen on my terms. If you’re working with me it’s vital that you do what I say.” Faintly, it struck Bruce that it was a little silly to demand a child take life and death consequences into account. How could a kid possibly know and understand what a near miss meant. Of course he’d given this same warning to all the Robins, but for the first time he realized that there was no way any of those kids had really understood the dangers they faced.

“I’ll do whatever you tell me,” Damian pledged, “Grandfather was very strict about doing exactly what he said without mistakes.

Bruce shuddered a little internally at the thought of Ra’s al Ghul’s demands for this child. In a lot of ways it would have been better if Talia had let him know about the boy when he was born. “Tonight we are only going to do some training, I’m going to teach you how to fight like a bat.”

* * *

It was the first day of Spring Break at Gotham Academy and Bruce thought Damian was ready for his first outing as Robin. The two of them had been training for months and Bruce had to say, the kid was good. Talia had not neglected any part of his physical and martial conditioning, even going so far as to teach him how to fight with such arcane weapons as a sword  and dagger. However, Bruce had assured Damian that it was unlikely that he was going to run into other katana wielders on the streets of Gotham and other more practical weapons might be more suitable. To this end Damian had chosen to use a staff similar to the other Robins, however it had to be shortened because Tim was quite a bit taller than the kid.

In the meantime, Bruce had also made sure a special costume was made for Damian using the same protective material that his own costume was made of. It had been a long time since the Robin costume had to be made so small. Pushing back  the uneasiness  he had felt when the tiny costume had been delivered he was, as a whole, pleased with how everything was going.  He had been right in thinking that giving the boy training would help him focus. Damian hardly complained about school anymore, and rarely spoke of missing his home. The promise of a task that was actually important had given the kid a drive and made his life more meaningful, just as it had with the other boys. Sometimes he wished he’d had such a distraction after his own parents’ deaths, for several years he only remembered feeling lost.

Gearing up in the cave it was the first time Damian had worn the Robin costume. It fit perfectly, and Bruce could see that the boy was pleased. “Do you like it?” he asked as he adjusted his gauntlets and cowl.

Damian, always playing the grown-up, fought down a smile and said in the coolest way he could muster “It’s not too bad.”

Bruce eyed him carefully, making sure that all essential parts of the outfit were in good order, before heading to the Batmobile. “Tonight we are strictly scouting. I want you to get a feel for the detective work that is at the core of my mission in Gotham.”

Damian slid into the passenger seat, his mask firmly in place. “I’m ready.”

* * *

Gotham was chilly  with a thin fog drifting in from the docks as the Batmobile quietly rolled through the mostly empty streets. The electric engine made almost no noise as Batman pulled to a stop on a seemingly abandoned wharf.  Exiting the vehicle he looked at Robin. “You ready?”

Robin nodded, giving his staff an experimental twirl. “Let’s go.”

There had been rumors of drugs being smuggled into Gotham from these docks. It didn’t seem to be a large scale operation,  they used small boats and only a few people. Batman was interested in finding out whether or not these lowlifes were connected to one of the larger drug running operations. “ Stick with me,” Batman reminded Robin. The last think he needed was for Robin to get lost on the docks on his first night out.

The two of them explored the empty pier taking note of the sorts of boats that were docked there. Mostly small private yachts with a few larger boats thrown in the mix. Robin was attentive as Batman pointed out various things that might help them uncover the information they wanted, but he couldn’t seem to keep still. He was constantly giving his staff little spins as if itching for an excuse to use it.

After a more or less thorough sweep of the docks Batman turned to Robin. “I think we’re more or less done here, where should we look next?” 

Robin considered a moment. “We should look around the warehouses that are near. People carrying large amounts of drugs probably don’t want to carry them far.”

“Good observation.” Batman was pleased, the boy had a sharp attention to detail that he hoped to hone as they worked together. “Let’s go check and see if any are open.”

For the most part the dockside warehouses seemed to be empty of any strange activity. They checked out the three closest ones and found everything to be in good order. Robin even used a grappling hook to climb up to the high windows and peer inside, only to be met with dark, lifeless interiors. “None of these buildings look like any drug runners are using them,” said Robin as he dropped to the ground and detached his grapple for the third time. “Maybe they don’t store them in the obvious place.”

“Perhaps,” said Batman, “but that in and of itself is valuable information. If drug runners are bringing the drugs in through the pier, but not storing them nearby, then it’s only a matter of fact finding and deduction until we have answers.”

Robin sighed, seemingly discontent that they most likely would not be rounding up drug runners that night. “Is all your work this boring?”

Batman suppressed a smile. “A lot of the time.”

“Is checking three warehouses enough? Or should we check all of them to be sure?”

“Let’s go check out one that is sometimes used by some of the drug gangs here, I have a hunch that these new importers are ultimately connected to the preexisting thugs.” Batman swept down the alleyway headed deeper into the warehouse district. Robin trailed after, his hope for some action not entirely dead.

The warehouse in question was as plain and unassuming as the rest of them, but Batman had a feeling this one might turn up at least a little more information. No matter what they found, after they were done here they would be heading home for the night. A simple, uneventful first outing was the ideal anyway. “Robin,” Batman whispered, “can you get up to th at window again and tell me what you see?”  Batman pointed to a small window slightly offset above the small side entrance to the warehouse.

Robin easily grappled himself up to the window and perched delicately on the narrow window ledge. Though the boy was easily ten feet up Batman wasn’t worried in the slightest, Robin had more than demonstrated his agility and balance. 

“I see a guy, and he’s counting money.” Robin shifted a little to get a better view. “He’s tall, big, Caucasian and has a mustache.” 

It sounded like the kind of guy the drug kingpins hired. “Do you see anything that looks like drugs in there?”

Robin pressed closer to the grimy glass, attempting to clean a spot with his sleeve. “I see pallets with white stuff shrink wrapped in plastic. A lot of them, maybe fifty or more.”

While it wasn’t exactly a link between the rumored dock activity and the warehouse, it was a place to start. Besides, Commissioner Gordon might be interested in inspecting those pallets.  Turning away from the warehouse Batman checked that the coast was clear.  “Okay, I think we’ve seen enough-”

“Wait,” Robin cut him off, “he’s getting up, maybe there’s someone else in there.”

Batman turned back to look at the kid. “We don’t need-”

_Bang!_

Glass shattered and Robin screamed as he fell to the ground. The warehouse door flung open and the mustached man came barreling out, guns blazing. With no time to think Batman threw himself into a roll, the angry drug runner not relenting in the slightest. Easily evading his clumsy moves, Batman paused long enough to throw a series of throwing stars at his assailant. One knocked the gun from Mustache’s right hand, the other two buried themselves into his left arm causing him to shriek in pain. A quick roundhouse kick to the face brought the thug to his knees. Picking up the fallen gun Batman pointed it at Mustache saying only one word. “Run.”

Mustache fled. Waiting just long enough to verify Mustache wasn’t coming back, Batman threw the gun aside and raced over to where Robin lay. Kneeling next to the boy he quickly checked for any bleeding injuries. “Robin, quickly, tell me what hurts.”

Damian’s eyes fluttered. “Arm,” he gritted out faintly, “Dad, it hurts so bad.”

Feeling the boy’s head gingerly and verifying it was at least in one piece, Bruce gently scooped up the kid and headed back to the Batmobile as quickly as possible. On the way he breathlessly called Alfred and told him to get a doctor to the Wayne Manor.


	3. TO ALL THE ROBIN’S I’VE TRAINED BEFORE

Bruce paced the carpeted hallways of Wayne Manor. It was very early, the sun hadn’t even risen yet. Late last night the doctor had diagnosed Damian with a concussion and broken arm from his fall. In addition to some deep bruising where the bullet had struck him, but had deflected off his suit. Thankfully no other injuries were incurred. Robins had been injured before, but this time felt different and Bruce wasn’t entirely sure why. Most times the first outing wasn’t so disastrous, but it was more than just that.

Treading softly to Damian’s room he opened the door and peeked in. He was resting quietly, most certainly due to the pain relievers the doctor had prescribed. His arm was in a fresh cast and would remain so for some weeks. Bruce couldn’t believe he had forgotten how much more delicate children were, even ones trained as assassins. Glancing over his son one last time he silently closed the door.

Deciding he needed some fresh air, Bruce left Wayne Manor to walk the grounds. The gardens were beginning to bloom and the spring air was refreshing. For some reason though, the clean air didn’t alleviate his feeling of being dirty. Hundreds, if not thousands of times before he had taken a Robin with him and put that young man in danger while he fought crime in Gotham. Yes, he always accepted that it could be risky, but it never stopped him or the Robins. Hadn’t they wanted to do it? They were free to stop at any time. Except, they weren’t young men, not at first. Each and every one of them was a boy when he started. A child. And this Robin, the one laying in bed with a concussion and a broken arm, that was his child. His son. Someone he had a duty to protect.

But weren’t the other boys also his sons? He couldn’t imagine having better, smarter, more accomplished children than Dick, Jason or Tim. They were as close to his kids as it was possible to be. Only, did he really think that? _I’m not your father, you had parents and I’m not here to replace them._ Hadn’t he said those word in some way or another to all three of the previous boys. All three of them had been young when they’d first come into his care. He’d supported, educated and loved them all. But, he’d never really thought of himself as their father. Maybe an older brother or friend. Someone they could rely on and come to for help, but not a parent. Much in the same way Alfred had cared for and raised him, but would never, could never, replace his own father.

Damien didn’t have another father. Damien didn’t have anyone else but him, not even in memory. The weight of it all crashed into Bruce at that moment. He had made a mistake. Three times. For so long he only saw the boys through the lens of his own pain. The helplessness he had felt as a child who couldn’t do anything to protect himself or the ones he loved. He didn’t want those boys to feel that so he had tried to give them some power back. But he had it all wrong, they didn’t need power, they needed protected. They were children. Damian had been lucky last night, Bruce could have lost his son before he ever got to know him.

Every time he had failed to protect one of the boys it had always gnawed at him. The guilt of not doing enough, of not being good enough had eaten away at him. Several times he thought he was done with all this Robin business, only to turn back to it the second the boy was back on his feet. How foolish, how insane he must have been. The reason the boys had been hurt wasn’t because he, as Batman, had somehow failed to keep them safe, they were hurt because he, as Bruce, had failed to keep them safe from Batman. His son, his own child was laying in a bed with a broken arm because Bruce had failed to keep him out of harm’s way.

Bruce had failed all four of them. Many, many times.

Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket he hit the top name in his contacts list and listened as it rang. He knew what had to be said, and he couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to realize it.

“Hello?” came the voice he knew so well.

“Dick,” Bruce waited with baited breath for the answer.

“Yeah,” came the reply.

“I’m sorry.”


End file.
